


parrishsrubberplant's omgcp tumblr fic

by parrishsrubberplant (genus_species)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, Multi, Originally Posted on Tumblr, crossposted from tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 15:19:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 8,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16835245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genus_species/pseuds/parrishsrubberplant
Summary: A place to dump all of the Check Please fic I've posted on my tumblr over the years!





	1. December 1 - unexpected visitors (december 1, 2018)

December 1 - unexpected visitors (see the full prompt list here)

The door creaks. It’s the one thing Dex hasn’t fixed yet. It’s a feature, he keeps telling himself, not a bug. They don’t need to put socks on the door because the door itself is an advance warning system.

He realized, curled up on the full-sized air mattress next to the beer fridge, that he forgot to bring down clean underwear.

Hence the secret mission: get back upstairs, get into Nursey’s room, get clean underwear, get out.

Except--the door. It sounds like the shrieking of the damned, like the wailing of a tortured soul. “I thought it was supposed to be only the attic that’s haunted,” he mutters.

There’s a rustle, and then a sleepy voice says, “Nah, haven’t you ever heard Britney while you’re brushing your teeth? And you know Chow doesn’t play Britney.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Dex presses a hand to his pounding heart. “I didn’t think you were going to be awake.”

Nursey snorts. Dex scrambles for possible translations. “You bonehead” is a strong contender, as is “Of course I’m awake; the barometric pressure is dropping and I have a broken bone.” Dex cracked the hall window as he came upstairs--the hall radiator is outdid itself. The air had smelled wet, like the impending snow.

Dex moves carefully across the floor, testing each step before he takes it. He has tripped over socks (his), a fountain pen (Nursey’s), and a diminutive plush shark (Chowder’s) in the dark before; he’s taking no chances.

“Your fort is sick,” Nursey says drowsily.

“The literal actual fu--are you sleeping in my bed?” Dex whisper-screams. He curls his hands around the edge of the dresser. It’s a nice piece--he found it on a run, half a mile from campus: the only thing wrong with it was that a couple of the drawer knobs needed replacing. The moulding feels reassuringly solid under his fingers.

“Hell yes,” Nursey says. He sounds more awake now.

Dex opens the drawer and grabs underwear by feel. Five pairs ought to do it, especially since he’s sleeping right next to the washing machine.

“I’m not going to risk my beautiful body climbing up that ladder,” Nursey continues.

Dex has a sudden, vivid memory of being ten years old and twenty feet up a silver maple, hiding in the Poindexter treehouse. Please don’t find me, please don’t find me, please don’t find me. It didn’t work then and it doesn’t work now.

“Because of your ‘sports injury.’” Making air quotes in the dark causes him to drop several pairs of underwear.

“I lost a bet,” Nursey says. “I owe Chowder a coffee; I bet him you wouldn’t come back up here until tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry,” Dex says, and bends down to pick up his underwear. It isn’t what he expected to say at all. Please don’t find me. He was ten years old, and all he wanted was...five minutes of privacy. One thing that was just his. 

“For someone who has, like, enough siblings for a two-man advantage, you are crap at sharing,” Nursey says.

Dex picks up his underwear. “Got any more 2 am wisdom for me?”

The top of Nursey’s waterbottle clicks and liquid sloshes as he drinks. “Nope. Sleep well.”

Dex hesitates, shifting from foot to foot. He should say something else. He should do something else. “You too.” He clutches his boxes to his chest and pulls the door closed behind him. It shuts noiselessly.


	2. leg day - november 6, 2018

“Oww,” Nursey says. “Ouch ouch ouch oww.” Every step down makes his quads burn. He grabs the railing for balance.

“Baby,” Bitty teases from the bottom of the stairs.

“I will snap your legs like twigs,” he grumbles. “Watch me.” Bitty just laughs at him.

Behind him, Dex says, “Go backwards.”

“Huh?” Nursey pauses, foot in midair. 

“Go backwards,” Dex says. “It hurts less.”

Nursey stares at him. He’s not sure if he’s being pranked. After a moment, he turns around and tries it. “Wow,” he says.

“Yeah.” Dex waits patiently as Nursey descends the rest of the stairs. “You should foam roller your legs, too. It helps.”

Nursey makes eye contact with Bitty. He tries to say ‘who is this pod person and what has he done with Dex’ in eyebrow. Bitty doesn’t get the full message. He raises his eyebrows back and looks confused.

“Y’all want coffee?” Bitty asks.

“Please,” Nursey says, pouring a generous slug of creamer into the bottom of a mug. Dex is already preheating the toaster oven and slicing bagels.

“Overdid leg day?” Bitty asks. The coffeemaker drips.

“Went running after leg day,” Nursey says. “I’ll be okay for practice. Just need to walk it off.” Dex shakes his head. “Don’t judge me,” Nursey tells him.

“I wasn’t,” Dex says, and takes the unsalted peanut butter and strawberry jam out from the fridge. He nudges the door closed with his hip. “I was going to offer you a massage, actually.”

“Wha–”

“–you should take him up on that,” Bitty says. He grins at Dex. “The Physical Therapy Club really paid off for you.”

Dex shrugs. “Everybody gets so tense.” He didn’t add the part about being touch-starved and freaked out, but Nursey filled it in silently. Look at him, trying to be better.

“Okay,” Nursey says. He sips his coffee.

And clearly he didn’t think this through, because suddenly he’s sitting on the couch in the living room. Dex’s fingers dig into the meat of his thigh. “Breathe,” Dex says. “That’s it.” Nursey breathes slowly.

When he stands, his legs feel more like muscle and bone, less like knots of pain. “Thanks,” he says unevenly.


	3. astolen98saturnsedan asked: "You broke into my apartment drunk..." prompt with Nursey/Dex or Ronan/Adam 👀👀👀(october 31, 2018)

The knocking at the door is too loud, more like pounding. Nursey starts up off the couch. Pizza delivery was last night, and he’s not expecting a package. There shouldn’t be anyone knocking.

The doorknob rattles. Nursey’s throat closes, and icy calm descending over him. _I’m not really a violent person, or much of a fighter at all._ Ice hockey notwithstanding. Could you drive away an intruder by insulting them?

_Besides, even if I punched someone in my own home, they’d argue it was self-defense. Like that off-duty cop, who shot Botham Shem Jean in his own living room._

He readies his phone, 911 emergency call, ready to go. The door shakes. _Where are my neighbors?_

He holds his phone in his right hand, lifts the tab to uncover the peephole with his left.

The phone thuds to the doormat. _What the fuck?_

“Stop breaking the door down,” he says loudly to the person on the other side.

He undoes the chain bolt, the jimmy proof deadbolt, and flips the door handle lock horizontal. _Wait._ He redoes the chain bolt only, and cracks the door. The door opens an inch, reaches the end of the chain, and stops.

“Oh thank fuck, Chris, I thought you were asleep–” It’s the tall redhead. Nursey’s seen him in the laundry room. “Wait, who’re you?”

“Derek,” Nursey says.

Up close, redhead is drunk. His flushed freckled cheeks and bright eyes would tell Nursey that, even if his breath didn’t. If Nursey struck a match, the air between them might explode. It _reeks._

Redhead falters. “Is this not my apartment?”

Drunk, but not stupid. “4B,” Nursey says. He could probably undo the chain bolt.

Redhead blinks. “Oh shit.”

The sick remnants of adrenaline have to go somewhere. Nursey blinks against the prickle of an oncoming headache.

“I am so sorry,” he says. “I forgot my keys.” He touches his pocket. “And I just remembered, my roommate is at his girlfriend’s in Boston for the weekend. Shit. I am so sorry, I’ll just–”

“Do you have the super’s number?” Nursey interrupts.

Redhead fumbles his phone from his pocket. He’s wearing slim leg jeans, a partially-buttoned plaid shirt over a heather grey tee. Ambiguous. He could be gay or just stylish. Redhead taps at his screen. “No,” he says.

Nursey makes a decision. “Here, I’ll give you the number and wait with you. Just a sec.” He closes the door, pockets his keys, and shoves his feet into a pair of slides. As an afterthought, he fills a tall glass with water from the tap.

Redhead leans his shoulder against the wall. He stands straighter as Nursey’s door closes. “Hey,” he says. “You don’t have to–I am so, so sorry–”

“5B?” Nursey asks.

“Yeah.” 

They start up the stairs together. When they sit down outside redhead’s door, Nursey notices letters on the front of the shirt. S-A-M-and part of something that might be ‘W.’

“Here,” he says, holding up the super’s number. Redhead types it in with careful concentration. 

“Hi, Dimas? This is Will, from 5B. I’ve left my keys in the apartment and Chris is away. Give me a call back?” He says his number slowly, tracing his finger in the air as he speaks. “Again, this is Will.” He hangs up.

“Give it twenty minutes, then call a locksmith,” Nursey suggests. “At least you’ve got wifi out here.”

“True,” Redhead–Will–says.

“So, Samwell?” Derek asks.

Will smiles. “Yeah. That’s where I met my roommate, and he met his girlfriend.”

“I think we played you guys. Hockey? I went to Colgate.”

Will’s eyes widen. “No shit–what year?”

“Class of 2016,” Nursey says.

“Wow,” Will says. “Small world.”

Nursey offers him the glass of water. “Here,” he says. “Hydrate.”

“Wow,” Will says again. “I practically break your door down, and you’re still super nice to me.” He sips the water.

Nursey shrugs, his complicated feelings not falling easily into words. He knows he’ll write about this later in his journal and that will help him make more sense of it. Maybe.

Just then, Will’s phone buzzes. “Dimas? Thank you for calling back. Yeah, I’m so, so sorry. Listen–you are around? Okay–thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver.” Will hangs up. “He’s on his way.” He takes a big gulp of water and coughs.

A few minutes later, the building door opens. Dimas’s keys jingle and his heavy footsteps thump on the stairs. “Hey William!”

Will straightens up. “Thank you, thank you so much,” he says.

“4B!” Dimas says. “Derek! Hello!”

“Hey man,” Nursey says. “How’s it going?”

“Busy, busy,” Dimas says, and unlocks Will’s door.

Will pulls out his wallet. “Please, can I give you a tip? For your trouble?”

Dimas waves him off. “First time, free. Second time, fifty dollars.” He laughs. Will tries to press a twenty on him. “No, no,” Dimas says. “Good night!” 

Will puts the money back in his wallet. Dimas goes downstairs, and they’re left standing in the hallway together, Will’s foot wedged in the open door. 

“Hey,” he says. “Thanks.”

Nursey smirks. “Nice to meet you, Will.” He’s definitely not imagining the other man going red. It clashes horribly with his hair. “Have a good night,” Nursey says, and turns to head down the stairs.

“Wait!” Will says. He hands the glass back to Nursey. “Um,” he says. “Thanks. Again. Thank you. Um. I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah,” Nursey says. “See you.” He heads back downstairs to his apartment. The door above him closes.


	4. finding your passion is awful advice (october 8, 2018)

“I don’t know!”

Dex has never heard that tone in Nursey’s voice before. It’s sharp, almost panicky.

Tango looks taken aback.

“I don’t know,” Nursey says, more quietly. Then, “I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

“It’s okay,” Tango says. “I should have known it wasn’t a good question to ask.”

“It’s not your fault,” Nursey says. “I just–I just got off the phone with my mama, and she asked the same thing, and–”

“Hug?” Tango interrupts. “Do you need one?”

Dex walks into the kitchen to see Nursey and Tango with their arms around each other. It’s not a bro hug, or a celly hug. More like the kind of full-body comfort that the bottom kitten gets when he’s smushed under a pile of his brothers.

“Thanks,” Nursey says. He lets go.

“Tell me if I can help?” Tango says. “Like, I don’t know if you want advice right now, but I’ve had pretty good luck talking to Career Services about summer stuff.”

“I haven’t been,” Nursey says. “It’s on my list, though.”

Tango goes to the coffee pot, fills up his travel mug, and screws on the lid. “Sounds good! Oh, hi Dex.”

“Hey,” Dex says. He takes down a random mug from the cupboard–the Shakespearean insults one, perfect–and fills it with coffee.

“See you,” Tango says. The front door thumps shut, and there’s a click as Tango locks it behind him. Then, whistling, as he heads up the block.

“That child,” Nursey says. He sounds fond.

“Are you okay?” It isn’t what he means to ask. He means to ask something like, ‘How about that came last night?’ or ‘Want to watch some tape later today?’ Instead, ‘are you okay?’ is what came out. Shit.

“What, ‘cause I freaked out on Tango?” Nursey asks.

“No,” Dex says. “I mean, he was asking you about, you know. Plans. For after graduation. And you sounded, you know. Like that.”

“If I didn’t want to talk about it with him, why would I want to talk about it with you?”

“Ouch,” Dex says. He waits, and Nursey goes on.

“I have no idea what I want to do,” Nursey says. “None. And you all–Bits had Jack, this time last year. And his YouTube channel was taking off. Shitty went to fucking Harvard Law. Even Lards, like, she had something.” He grabs a red mug, adds a splash of creamer, and pours the coffee on top. “What about you? CS, you have to have something.”

“Tech jobs,” Dex says. “Boston and Seattle, mostly. Maybe Silicon Valley. There’s a few things in Portland. My family would like that. Close to home.”

“Must be nice,” Nursey says.

Dex shrugs, because what can he say? It is nice. He has a clear career path stretching out in front of him. “Got to work on my interview skills, though,” he jokes. “How to be an actual person, and not a–what was it you called me? Stiff stuffed shirt in a suit and tie?”

Nursey laughs into his coffee.

“What do you want?” Dex asks. “In general terms.”

“I want to be in Boston,” Nursey says. “I want to have enough money to live on, bus fare to go to New York sometimes. I want beer league hockey. Time to write, before and after work.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Dex says. “I mean, you said you had no idea, and that’s already a pretty clear set of search parameters.”

“Gonna make me a spreadsheet?” he jokes.

Dex looks serious. “Would it help?”

“I can make my own spreadsheet,” Nursey says.

“Okay.” Dex bumps his shoulder, careful not to spill either of their coffees. “I can sit there and hold your hand while you make it, though.”

“You wouldn’t really hold my hand.” He’s not sure why he says that.

Dex sets his coffee on the counter, reaches out, and laces his fingers through Nursey. “I got you,” he says. “I mean, I have you. Whichever is better grammar. I don’t know.”

Nursey can’t help it. He rests his head on Dex’s shoulder and laughs and laughs.


	5. louis the dj (october 2, 2018)

“Sick playlist!” Nursey bawls in Louis’s ear. The music is perfect–loud enough to vibrate the bones but quiet enough to avoid headaches. Most of the songs aren’t in English. He catches bits of French, German, Portuguese. 

“Thanks!” Louis swigs his beer, checks something on his laptop, and looks out over the crowd. People are dancing, Chris and Cait grinding up on each other. “I’m glad _you’re_ having fun.”

“Who–” Nursey says. “Oh.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Yeah, oh.” He glares across the room, where Dex is disappearing into the kitchen in a shock of red hair and stiff shoulders. “He called my music ‘eurotrash,’” Louis says in Nursey’s ear.

“Want me to talk to him?”

Louis raises an eyebrow. “Talk?”

Nursey slaps the back of Louis’s neck. “Hush,” he says. He elbows Louis. “Are you mad, bro?”

Louis laughs. “No, I thought it was funny.” His smile turns wicked. “I was going to play some old skool stuff for him, once things calmed down a bit, but now I don’t think I will.”

“Insult the DJ and you’ll pay for it,” Nursey says. He wipes sweat off his forehead. Even with the windows open, it’s hot in here.

“Amen,” Louis says, and turns back to his laptop.

Nursey goes into the kitchen for some water. Dex is standing at the sink pouring a glass of water down his throat. His tight gray muscle tee is dark with sweat between the shoulder blades.

He jumps when Nursey comes up behind him. “Jesus! You scared me.”

Nursey takes the empty glass from his hand. “You done?” When Dex nods, he fills it with water and drinks. “Conservation of dishes, bro.”

“True.” Dex waits, leaning his hip against the counter while Nursey finishes his water.

“So I heard you don’t like the music,” Nursey says.

Dex snorts. “It sounds like Eurovision barfed in his laptop.”

“Please, like you’ve seen Eurovision,” Nursey says.

“Sarah likes it.” Dex steals the glass back, drinks more water. 

“You’re weird,” Nursey says, once he realizes he’s been staring too long. The collar of Dex’s tee is dark with sweat too. His freckles stand out against his pale skin. His summer tan is starting to fade.

The glass clinks against the counter as Dex puts it down. “Wanna dance?” he asks.

Nursey is convinced he misheard. “What?”

“I said, wanna dance?” Dex says.

“What, with you?”

Dex’s hands slide into his pockets. His shoulders tense. “Fine, it’s fine, sorry I–” he’s already turning away.

“No, I–” Nursey can’t think what to do, so he acts. He grabs Dex’s arm and tows his crabby ginger D partner-roommate-maybe something more back into the living room. Over Dex’s shoulder, he mouths a plea to Louis: “Play something good.”


	6. home (september 20, 2018)

“Every time I go home, it gets harder.”

Bitty gives the bread dough a quarter turn, and then pushes it down with the heels of his hands. “Yeah?”

“I just–I like the person I am here, you know?” Dex scraps the apricots into a pile, peels the sticky ones off the knife, and chops again. 

“Mmm,” Bitty says.

Dex looks up. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Is it okay to talk about this?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Bitty gives the bread dough another thump.

Dex examines his pile of chopped apricots. They’re evenly sized. He scrapes them into the bowl and gathers a handful of toasted almonds from the cooled baking sheet. “Well, I don’t know. If it, like, brings up stuff for you, or something.”

“Why would you think I don’t want to go home?” Bitty still hasn’t turned around from the bread dough.

“You used to be on the phone with your mom all the time when you’re in the kitchen,” Dex says, then stops. Bitty lets out a ragged breath. “I’m fucking this up. I’ll shut up.”

“No, you need to talk about it,” Bitty says. “And I’m okay to listen. What makes it hard to go home?”

Dex’s knife breaks through the almonds with a crunch. They smell wonderful. “It’s not going home that’s hard. I love my family, I really do. It’s coming back. Like, I’m so much better here than I am there.” Dex tips the almonds into the bowl with the apricots.

“I get that,” Bitty says.

“I feel safe here,” Dex says quietly.

Bitty sniffs. “Sorry,” he says.

“What?”

“Sorry, sorry.” Bitty takes a deep breath. “I get that you need to talk about this, but–I’m taking it back, I’m sorry, I’m not able to be listening for you right now.”

Dex sets the knife down, comes over to Bitty, and gives him a two-armed side hug. “Bro,” he says into Bitty’s hair. “It’s chill.” Bitty laughs wetly. “Maybe I’ll start keeping a journal,” Dex says, and releases him.

Bitty pokes the bread dough. It’s done, ready to rise. He dashes the back of his hand across his eyes and Dex pretends not to notice.


	7. thinking of you (september 6, 2018)

_Thinking of you._

That’s all the text says. Dex’s heart feels warm in his chest. _Thinking of you._ It’s so much more than _Hey sexy_ or _babe_ or _behind the gym, 12:45._

He’s dated people before, he has. But this–rush of feeling, the way he finds his thoughts drifting, the way he’s getting conditioned to the buzzing of his phone–this is all new.

_Y?_ he replies. The question mark makes it look friendlier. He puts his phone in his bag and zips it. He’ll check again after class.

He feels the vibration against his foot: a text message. The professor is still lecturing, PowerPoint slides marching on, and Dex is diligently taking notes, even though it feels like his bag’s an unexploded bomb at his feet. He’s not going to open it, he’s not.

As soon as the Professor Crawley says, “See you next week,” Dex’s hand is on the zipper.

_i like you._

It’s not news. _News_ was the first time they kissed, and Dex felt lit up from the inside out. But Dex’s family doesn’t do this–kind of open statement of emotion. He’s never doubted that Sarah and his parents love him; but they never say it.

_u 2,_ he replies.

He’s crossing the Main Green diagonally when he sees Nursey, standing beside a bench outside the anthropology building, frowning down at his phone.

“Hi,” Dex says. He’s still too far away, but Nursey looks up, sees him, and grins.

“Babe!” Nursey’s smile is wide and open and so, so genuine. “How was class?”

“Not bad,” Dex says. The honest answer would be: _I couldn’t stop thinking about you_ , but he’s not quite ready for that much honesty yet.

Maybe someday. Maybe soon.

In the meantime, he can still say it another way. He grabs Nursey’s bicep, leans in, and kisses him. _I like you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you._

When they break apart, Nursey’s smile is almost shy.

“How was your class?” Dex asks.

“Good,” Nursey says, and verbally outlines his upcoming paper as they walk back to the Haus together.


	8. asking (september 5, 2018)

Dex blows out a breath. He can see the cloud of smoke in the air, and it feels tangible, like it has depth and weight, like he could hold it in his hands. He watches it disappear into the night air above the Reading Room. “Sometimes I wonder if there are any straight people here,” he says.

Whiskey frowns at him from behind the rim of his highball class. “You mean, at Samwell?”

Dex takes another hit and passes the joint left. “Yeah.”

Tango lifts his beer bottle to his lips and blows a low note. “Umm, Shitty?”

They all pause to contemplate the sheer presumptive heterosexuality that is B. “Shitty” Knight.

Nursey lowers himself onto the loveseat, squishing Tango into Dex. He lifts his arm and Tango leans against him. “I dunno, I’ve seen Shitty make out with dudes.”

“But, like, ironically,” Dex argues. “He wasn’t doing it because he actually wanted to make out with dudes. He was doing it to, um, fuck the patriarchy or something.”

Tango giggles, a short sharp sound, like a seal barking.

Nursey shrugs. “Why do you care?”

“Why am I wondering if there’s any straight people?” Dex asks. “Or why do I care about Shitty?”

Nursey shrugs and takes the joint from Tango. “Both.”

Dex shrugs back at him. Tango leans his head against Dex’s shoulder. “I remember, I was in eighth grade,” he says. “I was dating a girl from my math class, and this seventh grader, and I just remember–my teacher came up to me in the recess yard, and she asked me about my girlfriends.”

“Yeah?” Nursey says. He extends his fist. “Get it.”

Tango curls his hand around Nursey’s fist, a soft rejection. “And until she said it, girlfriends, like that, I didn’t think there was anything wrong? I mean, they were both so cool, and I liked them both, and I wasn’t–”

Whiskey’s lawn chair creaks as he leans forward and presses his toes against Tango’s ankle.

“Sucks,” Dex says.

“Wow, yeah,” Nursey says. “She was out of line.” He pats Tango’s hand.

Tango shrugs. “Yeah. I mean, I guess when you wonder stuff like that, maybe think about why you’re wondering?” he says. His head is still against Dex’s shoulder.

“Mmm,” Dex says, more a thoughtful hum than a word.

Nursey finishes the joint, stubs it out, and flicks the end over the edge of the roof. “I’m going inside.”

Dex stands. “Me too,” he says. 

Whiskey moves from the lawn chair to Dex’s vacated place. Tango tucks an arm around him. “Hello, darling.”

Nursey makes a gagging noise and Dex giggles. Normally, he laughs–the giggle only happens when he’s high. It makes Nursey wonder, sometimes, if someone told Dex he couldn’t giggle, if he taught himself that he was only allowed to laugh. He climbs in through the window.

Dex follows him. The hall lights aren’t on, so only the street light illuminates the hallway. 

Nursey can’t resist. “You know what they say about asking,” he says.

Dex inhales sharply. “No, what?”

“If you have to ask, you already know.”


	9. fuckingtrying asked: could you do 81 with nurseydex? (august 21, 2018)

“It’s cold, you should take my jacket.”

Nursey shrugs and shoves his hands deeper into his pockets.

“Bro, the reason you’re not talking right now is because you don’t want me to hear your teeth chatter. Take the jacket.” Dex is unbuttoning his shirt as he speaks.

Nursey keeps his teeth from clacking by force of will. “Do you–of course you have another flannel on under that.”

“What, layering three hoodies doesn’t count as a winter coat? News to me,” Dex says. He shrugs off the outermost flannel. It’s grey and yellow (ugly) and fleece-lined (warm) and only Nursey’s pride makes him push Dex’s hand away.

“I’m fine,” he says.

Dex stops. “Take the shirt.”

“No,” Nursey says.

Dex folds his arms. Nursey remembers that Dex comes from a family with siblings and cousins. So does Ransom. So does Holster. He’s never seen an only child (he’s thinking mainly of Bitty…but also of himself) out-stubborn a sibling.

“Are you going to wait here until I take the shirt?”

“Yep,” Dex says.

Nursey considers his options. They’re a twenty minute walk from the house. It’s just close enough that getting a Lyft feels silly, plus it’ll probably take ten minutes for the car to arrive. He’s got goosebumps everywhere and he can feel his balls trying to retract. There’s pride, and then there’s stupidity.

“Okay,” he says. Then, gracelessly, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Dex waits while Nursey pulls the shirt on and buttons it. And oh, this was a terrible idea. Because the shirt smells like Dex’s laundry detergent and Dex’s deodorant and…Dex. Nursey wants to pull his head in like a turtle. He wants to bury his face in the sleeve. He wonders when ‘Dex’ became a distinct smell, like ‘Faber’ or ‘Bitty’s pie’ or ‘home.’ Recently, he thinks. But it feels like a much longer time.

They walk on in silence. 

“Better?” Dex asks.

“Yes.”

“It looks good,” Dex says.

“I don’t look like a ironic hipster wannabe?”

Dex chuffs a laugh. “No, you definitely do. But you look good.”

Nursey bumps his shoulder into Dex’s. Dex bumps him back. He feels warm all over. It’s just the shirt, he thinks to himself, but he knows that isn’t true.


	10. herpinmyderplike asked: Three word prompt! "Oh, you again..." (august 20, 2018)

“Oh, you again,” Dex says. The girl sitting on Nursey’s bed is extremely pretty. Her dark hair is braided close to her head in lots of tiny braids and her eyelids are luminous with glittery purple eyeshadow.

She looks up from her laptop. “Hey. It’s Will, right?” She has the same sort of accent as Bitty. The word his sister Sarah would use for her makeup is _bomb._ Possibly _bomb ass_ , even. It’s gorgeous.

“Dex,” he says, because it’s the Haus and his room and he doesn’t think of himself as ‘Will’ here. “Sorry, I don’t remember your name?” which is him desperately trying to be polite. He doesn’t _know_ her name. He probably should, if she’s Nursey’s girlfriend. Fuckbuddy. Friend? He’s not sure.

“Athena,” she says. Her eyelids are _really_ purple.

Dex puts his backpack down next to the desk. He was going to work here, but if Nursey and…Athena…are having a poetry confab or a makeout session, he really should move somewhere else. He pulls his phone out of his pocket.

Sure enough, he missed a text from Nursey an hour ago: _poetry friend coming over to work. u mind?_ And then another one, from ten minutes ago: _poetry friend here._

“How’s the poetry going?” he asks. He immediately wants to thump himself over the head with his own laptop. Like someone as attractive as she is will give him the time of day. _Nursey gives you the time of day,_ he thinks to himself, then, _shut up, brain._

Athena sighs. “It’s…going.”

“Malodorous metaphors?” Dex jokes, unpacking his backpack onto the desk.

“Something like that,” she says. The door creaks as Nursey pushes it open wider. 

“Oh, hey, I hope–oh, hi, Dex,” he says. He’s holding a mug and a glass of water, and Dex is honestly impressed he didn’t trip coming up the stairs carrying them. To Athena, he says, “I see you’ve met my roommate.”

“I have,” she says. “Hmm, so this is your muse.”

Nursey, in the middle of taking a sip from the mug, chokes. He crosses the room and hands Athena the water glass. Then he holds the mug steady in his hand and stands in the middle of the rug, still coughing.

“Um, what?” Dex says. He must have misheard her.

“Your boy’s been on an autumn kick all semester,” Athena says. “I can kinda see why.”

_What the fuck,_ Dex mouths at Nursey, but Nursey isn’t looking at him. Dex feels like his brain is shutting down. “I live to serve,” he says easily, over the screaming in his head. Nursey coughs one more time, sips, and clears his throat. “Do you mind if I work here?” Dex asks. “I’ll put on headphones–I can go downstairs if you want.”

Nursey and Athena exchange a look. “No, you’re good,” Nursey says. “It’s chill.”

Dex opens his laptop, retrieves his headphones from the desk drawer, turns his screen brightness way down, and Googles, ‘my roommate has a crush on me.’ He reads the titles of the first half dozen hits and then closes the tab, heart pounding.

He logs into Blackboard, but it’s several more minutes before he can properly concentrate on his work.


	11. astolen98saturnsedan asked: Hey what if Derek adopted a cat with anxiety without telling Dex (or what if he had an emotional support animal and didn't know how to bring it up, so he didn't tell Dex before they had to share a room) (august 5 & 7, 2018)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it’s only a temporary cat with anxiety, my muse takes weird left turns sometimes. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Parts 1 & 2 together - there may eventually be more.

It doesn’t occur to Nursey until he’s on his way to pick up Professor Russell’s cat that he didn’t actually _ask_ if Dex is okay with having third, feline roommate for a week. He didn’t even really think it through–all he did was ask his favorite professor, “How are you?” and the whole story came tumbling out: Russ is going to a conference, her partner is at _another_ conference, their condo is being renovated, and they have no place to put their cat.

“Are there boarding catteries around here?” Nursey had asked.

“I don’t know,” Russ said. “We should have researched, but he’s so new, and he’s scared of everything. He’s just beginning to come out when we sit on the floor. I’m worried if I send him back to a place that’s like the shelter, he’ll regress.”

“I like cats,” Nursey said. “And I don’t live in the dorms–technically, the hockey team owns the house, I think. We don’t get maintenance through the university, anyway, so…” He’s thinking about having a purring cat asleep on his lap, about how much nicer it is to do mountains of reading when you have something to pet.

“I couldn’t ask that,” Russ said.

Nursey grinned. “Sure you could,” he had said, and smiled his best Andover smile at her.

“I’ll ask Ana,” Russ said, “see if she has any friends who can take him. I think she said last night she had somebody.”

“And if she doesn’t, just email me,” Nursey said. “Seriously, it’s chill. I love cats.”

And, a day later, he had gotten Russ’s email. Ana’s friend had fallen through, and they were leaving the day after tomorrow, and could he please? And she was definitely going to pay him, so don’t even think about refusing.

After that, what could Nursey do but accept?

The cat carrier is heavy, and that’s not including the bag of litter, litterbox, litter scoop, dry cat food, wet catfood, and toys that Nursey has to carry. He redistributes as much as possible into his backpack and lifts the cat carrier with both hands.

Russ looks guilty. “I should give you a ride,” she says.

“Please.” Nursey could carry this cat across campus, but he’s an adult who asks for help when he needs it and he likes his arms in their sockets, thanks.

She knows where Frat Row is, and it’s a quick drive. Nursey unloads himself and the cat, and smiles. “He’ll be fine. We’ll take good care of him.” As she drives away, he thinks, _shit. Dex._

There’s nothing to do but carry the cat upstairs. Nursey turns the radio on and tunes it to some Spanish talk radio station. He sets up the litter box first, then the water bowl. Then he opens the carrier.

A grey blur streaks across the room and hides itself under Nursey’s bed. He lifts the coverlet and peeks. The cat is hunched in the far corner, nearly invisible except for two glowing eyes.

Well, Russ did say he was shy.

Nursey looks at his phone. There are times when text alone will not do.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi.” Dex actually answered. That doesn’t usually happen. “What’s up?”

“We have, uh, a situation, back at the room,” Nursey says.

“Is it the window again? I can pop it back when I have a minute, but if you really need the breeze, just go out in the Reading Room for now–”

“–no, not that.”

“Oh god. Did something new break?” Nursey can hear the sound of Dex going into problem-solving mode.

“No,” Nursey says. “Are you allergic to anything?”

“What did you do?” If Nursey didn’t know better, he would say Dex is holding back a laugh. His voice has that catch it gets when he’s about to chuckle.

“Just answer the question.”

“No,” Dex says. “No, I’m not.”

“And your thoughts on cats are…”

“You didn’t,” Dex says. “Nursey, we are college hockey players. We can barely keep ourselves alive. We are not taking responsible for some poor animal.”

“It’s Russ’s cat, Professor Russell, she needed somebody, and it was last-minute, and I just–”

“–didn’t think,” Dex says.

“He’s super shy. You won’t even know he’s there.”

“Great,” Dex says.

“You’re mad.”

A rush of air, as Dex sighs. “I’m not mad. You’re just–sometimes you can be–really impulsive, you know?”

“I’m sorry for not asking you first.”

“It’s all right,” Dex says. And then, grudgingly, “I like cats.” There’s a bong in the background, the University clock striking the time. “Shit, I have to go.”

“See you later,” Nursey says, and hangs up. “Whew.” He addresses the cat under the bed. “That wasn’t so bad.” He sits down at his desk and gets out his reading.

Dex comes in an hour or so later, and sets his backpack down with a thump. “Where is he?”

Nursey points with the end of his highlighter. “Sorry, just let me get through this paragraph–” but Dex is already going over to the bed and lifting the edge of the bedspread.

“Hi, buddy,” he says in a voice Nursey has never heard before in his life. “What’s the matter? Are you scared? It’s okay. We’re going to take good care of you.” Nursey finished the paragraph, caps the highlighter, and turns. Dex is lying on his front on the floor, arms at his sides, cheek against the rug, still talking to the cat. “Nursey said you’re a shy one. That’s okay. We won’t bother you. But it’s safe to come out here.”

“Are you going to try to pet him?” Nursey asks.

Dex shakes his head and sits up slowly. “Nah. I blinked slowly at him a little bit. Maybe he’ll come out at night?”

“Maybe,” Nursey says. “Russ said he’s only just eating in front of her and Ana, so I’m not hoping for too much.”

“Okay,” Dex says. He sits up slowly, every motion as slow and as non-threatening as possible. “Handsome fellow,” he says, still in that soft talking-to-cats voice. “We had a tabby when I was growing up.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, his name was Maple and he was a bastard.” Dex runs his fingers through his hair. “So, dinner? Do you need to feed him first, or anything?”

“No, I already put food out. Let’s just leave him to chill,” Nursey says, and they leave the room.

* * *

Dex grabs him before they walk into the dining hall together. “Are you telling the team about this?” he asks.

“About–oh,” Nursey says. “No, I don’t think so. They’d just want to come over and bother him, I think.”

Dex nods. Nursey is quite sure that if Dex weren’t his roommate, he would be first in line for bothering privileges. Who knew Dex was a cat person? “What’s his name?”

“Lucas,” Nursey says.

“Lucas,” Dex repeats. “San Lucas, Lucky Luke, Looky-Loo.”

Nursey stares at him.

“What? You never called your cats dumb nicknames?” Dex hands over his student ID and smiles at Reena as the cafeteria worker swipes him into the dining hall.

“Of course I did,” Nursey says.

“Well, then,” Dex says. He heads for the hockey team’s customary table in the back left corner and sets his backpack down.

Bitty is already there, phone in one hand and fork full of sweet potato in the other. “Hey,” he says.

If there’s anyone Nursey would tell, it would be Bitty. He wonders if Bitty’s a cat person. He hasn’t mentioned any childhood pets, so maybe not. His mom and dad seem like they might be the kind of people who would freak out about paw prints on the couch and stuff. Nursey leaves his bag next to Dex’s and goes to get a tray.

A chunk of wet cat food is missing when they get back to the room. “Good job,” Dex says. “You’ve got to eat to get big and strong.”

“He’s an adult cat,” Nursey says.

“So? If he’s this scared in a home, I can’t imagine he ate much in a shelter,” Dex says. “Hey baby.” He peers under the bed. “Yep, he’s still hiding.”

“Aww,” Nursey says. He peers under the bed too. “Look, he’s lying down, though. He looks more relaxed. Hey, buddy!” Lucas is curled up in meatloaf position, his front paws visible. He stares at them with wide eyes. “Okay,” Nursey says, lowering the blanket. “We’ll give you some privacy.” He gives Dex a meaningful look.

Dex lifts his hands and backs away from the bed. “I’m meeting Chowder in the CS lab–do you or Lucas need anything?”

“He probably needs Prozac, and I need vodka,” Nursey jokes.

“I can get you Feliway and Coors,” Dex says seriously.

“Nah, I’m just kidding. I’m all right. I’m going to go out to the Reading Room and read some poetry for class. Wish me luck–Jim the Douchebag’s last three poems have all been about his penis.”

“Jesus,” Dex says. “If I know the Jim you’re talking about, I wouldn’t think he had all that much to dwell on.”

Nursey snorts with laughter. He points at Dex. “Not that much to dwell on! That was beautiful. Beautiful.”

Dex smiles and tucks his laptop into his bag. “See you later, bro. See you later, catkins.”

But Nursey doesn’t go out to the Reading Room, not right away. He sits on the bed, laptop open and track changes on, making his first round of comments. The first round is always the Snark Round. Then he takes a break and edits the comments down to something more polite. As he’s commenting on Jim’s poem, he hears a rustle.

He doesn’t lift his head, but he does roll his eyeballs to stare at the place just at the bottom right of his field of vision. A gray blur is sneaking out from the foot of his bed, heading purposefully for the water bowl. Nursey holds his breath. “Hey, buddy,” he says softly. “Hey, love. Hey, Lucas. My name’s Derek. How’re you? Look at you, having a nice drink. Good boy.” The cat lifts his head, then goes back to drinking. “Would you like to hear some poetry?”

Nursey begins to read the poems and comment out loud as he types. Lucas arranges himself under the desk. Nursey wants so badly to send Dex a picture but he worries that if he moves, Lucas will flee back under the bed.


	12. pride (june 25, 2018)

Bitty’s eyes are glassy. He blinks and they fill again. Jack slings an arm around him. “Are you okay, bud?” he asks in Bitty’s ear, half-shouting to be heard over the noise of the parade.

Bitty dashes the back of his hand across his eyes. “I’m okay.” He leans into Jack. The view from the float is the tops of heads and waving rainbow flags. The music pulses so loudly Jack feels it kick back against his heartbeat. He feels calm, though that’s probably in part due to taking his medication this morning.

“Look!” Jack points. A spectator holds up a cardboard sign. It’s cut in the unmistakable shape of the Stanley Cup and colored with the stripes of the Pride flag. “Wow!” he yells and waves to get the person’s attention. Even over the music and the rest of the crowd noise he thinks he can hear the happy scream of excitement back.

Jack looks at his teammates. They’re dancing together on the float, arms around each other’s waists and shoulders. Tater is firing Falconers t-shirts (heather grey, with the Falconers’ logo in pastel rainbow) into the crowd. He’s got quite an arm and for someone who personally accounted for at least two bottles of champagne he seems…fine.

Jack makes eye contact with a shirtless girl in cutoff denim shorts. Rainbow stickers cover her nipples. Jack doesn’t want to think about how much it’ll hurt her to take those stickers off, but he really shouldn’t judge. Maybe she likes that kind of thing. “Happy Pride!” she yells.

“Happy Pride!” Jack howls back.

Snowy is dirty dancing with the Stanley Cup. Jack thinks maybe he ought to rescue it, but Phil Pritchard is laughing hysterically while filming the whole thing on his phone. And anyway, the Cup has probably seen much worse.

He knocks his shoulder against Bittle’s, and Bitty bumps him back. Jack smiles and waves to more fans.


	13. trolls on the Cup (june 20, 2018)

From: aperez@falconers.org  
Date: Friday, Jun 17, 2016 at 9:03 AM  
Subject: confirm spelling  
To: players@falconers.org, trainers@falconers.org, coaches@falconers.org, staff@falconers.org

Dear all–

Congratulations, again! Please see the attached spreadsheet for the list of names to be engraved on Lord Stanley’s cup. If your name is misspelled, please contact me as soon as possible.

Please don’t hesitate to contact me with any questions.

Warmly,   
Ana Perez  
Office Assistant, Providence Falconers  
aperez@falconers.org | 401-555-4283

From: amashkov@falconers.org  
Date: Friday, Jun 17, 2016 at 11:46 AM  
Subject: Re: confirm spelling  
To: players@falconers.org, trainers@falconers.org, coaches@falconers.org, staff@falconers.org

Respected Ms. Perez,

My name is spelled wrong. Should be картофель. )))

Yours faithfully, Alexei

From: sstmartin@falconers.org  
Date: Friday, Jun 17, 2016 at 1:02 PM  
Subject: Re: Re: confirm spelling  
To: players@falconers.org, trainers@falconers.org, coaches@falconers.org, staff@falconers.org

Alexei, you пиздаболище. Can we put that on the Cup as his name?

~Marty

From: jzimmermann@falconers.org  
Date: Friday, Jun 17, 2016 at 1:35 PM  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: confirm spelling

To: players@falconers.org, trainers@falconers.org, coaches@falconers.org, staff@falconers.org If we’re putting our Real Names on the Cup, I’d like to request this please… 

From: aperez@falconers.org  
Date: Friday, Jun 17, 2016 at 2:04 PM  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: confirm spelling  
To: players@falconers.org, trainers@falconers.org, coaches@falconers.org, staff@falconers.org

Please stop using Reply All.

Please don’t hesitate to contact me with any questions.

Warmly,   
Ana Perez  
Office Assistant, Providence Falconers  
aperez@falconers.org | 401-555-4283

From: amashkov@falconers.org  
Date: Friday, Jun 17, 2016 at 2:40 PM  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: confirm spelling  
To: players@falconers.org, trainers@falconers.org, coaches@falconers.org, staff@falconers.org

🐥

Yours faithfully, Alexei

From: sstmartin@falconers.org  
Date: Friday, Jun 17, 2016 at 2:59 PM  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: confirm spelling  
To: players@falconers.org, trainers@falconers.org, coaches@falconers.org, staff@falconers.org

🐥🐥

~Marty

From: jzimmermann@falconers.org  
Date: Friday, Jun 17, 2016 at 3:02 PM  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: confirm spelling  
To: players@falconers.org, trainers@falconers.org, coaches@falconers.org, staff@falconers.org

🐥🐥🐥

Jack

From: lfitzgerald@falconers.org  
Date: Friday, Jun 17, 2016 at 3:03 PM  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: confirm spelling  
To: aperez@falconers.org

Dear Ms. Perez,

Could my middle name be included? It’s Liam Taylor Fitzgerald.

From: aperez@falconers.org  
Date: Friday, Jun 17, 2016 at 3:30 PM  
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: confirm spelling  
To: lfitzgerald@falconers.org

Hi Liam, Sorry, middle names aren’t included on the Cup. I checked.

Please don’t hesitate to contact me with any questions.

Warmly,   
Ana Perez  
Office Assistant, Providence Falconers  
aperez@falconers.org | 401-555-4283


	14. surprise! (june 6, 2018)

“No,” Dex mutters, and burrows deeper into his pillow.

Nursey shakes his shoulder again. “Get up.”

“M’sleeping,” Dex mutters smearily. “Is the Haus on fire? Is someone bleeding out? Then leave me alone!”

It’s an impressively complex set of sentences for someone who is still asleep. Nursey chews his lower lip. “Well, actually.”

Dex sits up. “What? Where’s the fire?” He’s completely awake and down the ladder in an instant.

Nursey steps back. “What the fuck, dude.” Seriously. Dex was literally just dead to the world.

“Yeah?” Dex says. His voice is still rusty with sleep.

“Okay,” Nursey says. The fact that Dex can transition instantly to wakefulness is Useful Information, but it’s distracting him from his mission right now. “Tango says the stove isn’t turning on.”

Dex groans. “You woke me up for that?”

“Um,” Nursey says. “Well, actually, it was the furnace.”

“Oh my god,” Dex says, and scrubs his fists across his eyes. “You’re being weird. Why are you being weird?” He pulls on a pair of gray sweatpants, slides his feet into slippers (Dex wears slippers, like the old man he not-so-secretly is) and heads for the door.

“Aren’t you going to put on a shirt?” Nursey’s overtaxed pansexual heart cannot handle this.

Dex rolls his eyes. “No, I’m going to see the extent of the damage, and then if I need a shirt, you can get me one. Since you woke me up.”

“Okay, wow,” Nursey says, “Rude,” but he follows Dex out of the room and down the stairs.

The kitchen is clear and quiet. Dex goes straight to the stove and twists one of the burners. The gas comes on with a ‘pop.’ “Okay,” Dex says. “Not that one.”

Nursey makes a frantic hand signal.

Most of the SMH comes crashing in from the living room. “SURPRISE!”

Tango’s holding a coffee cake studded with candles.

Dex turns around, forgetting to shut off the burner. “What?”

Nursey grins. “Happy birthday!”

“Oh,” Dex says, and turns off the burner.

Tango sets with flaming cake down on the table. Chowder puts down a platter of eggs and bacon and beams.

“Wow,” Dex says. He’s clearly at a loss for words.

Nursey steps closer to him. Under the cover of giving him a bro hug, he says in Dex’s ear, “Is this okay?”

Dex shivers. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I’m just…surprised.” He steps back. “Wow,” he says. “Thanks guys!”

Chowder grins. Whiskey begins setting up plates, and takes a platter of pancakes out of the oven.

Nursey nudges Dex. “Go on,” he says. “Get food!”

Dex takes a plate. “Thanks everyone. You made all this?”

Chowder is still smiling. “Most of it,” he says. “Bitty made the coffee cake–it’s been in the downstairs freezer behind the Coors. He says happy birthday, by the way.”

“Aww,” Dex says. His cheeks are pink. “You all didn’t have to–”

Chowder elbows him. “Don’t be silly,” he says.

“Okay,” Dex says. “Thank you.” The way he says it, all quiet and sincere, that makes Nursey’s heart skip a beat in his chest.


End file.
